


"the Eldar remember"

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Meeting the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 23:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17928296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Fingolfin meets the dying mother of Hador Lórindol.





	"the Eldar remember"

   "Now Hador Lórindol, son of Hathol, son of Magor, son of Malach Aradan, entered the household of Fingolfin in his youth, and was loved by the king."

 

 

  

    The room was bright, and filled with light, the covers of the great bed a warm yellow, fringed with gold, as the long curtains and many cushions. Two tall vases of yellow flowers stood on either side of the window, bringing the summer into the quietness within.  
   For in the centre of all the light and colour, the pale wisp of a woman lay like a dead thing in the wide bed.  
   Fingolfin sucked his breath in sharply, it seemed little more than a skeleton, dusty and cobwebbed. But the bony hand moved, and the eyes, when they turned to him, were the eyes of Hador Lórindol.

   In a voice as soft as the wind in the grass, Golwen, the mother of Hador, spoke to the High King. "Welcome to Cerin Maenas, sire, I am honoured to meet you and intrigued to finally see one who has so captivated the heart of my son."  
   "My lady Golwen, it is I who am honoured, and filled with gratitude for the one who gave us Hador Lórindol."  
   Golwen laughed faintly, little more than a wheeze, and a tremor of the shoulders "They tell me that you love him." she whispered "Will you sit, and speak to me of my son ?"  
Fingolfin sat, Golwen moved her fingers and the women who had been standing near the door withdrew, closing it softly behind them. Golwen looked at Fingolfin through hooded eyes for a moment, then smiled "I am forty two." she said finally "I have heard that to you people, I would still be considered a child. Is it not so ?"  
   "Well" Fingolfin cleared his throat, it was slowly seeping into his mind, the dread awareness that this dying creature, the mother of his beloved Hador, was little older than Hador himself. The pain began with the closing of his throat, and settled coldly on his heart, the darkness of the void drew in close around him, mocking the brightness of the room.

 

   There was an exercise they had done, to enter the training for the Ride of Oromë; they had seated themselves in a circle around a vase of flowers, still as stones, and watched in silence as the flowers had wilted and died. It had taken days, some had moved, or slept, or swooned, but Fingolfin had found a kind of peace, away from everything, nothing to do, no choices to make, no hasty brother to placate...  
   But in memory, the passing of the flowers was as swift as the falling of rain, and a part of his spirit had wept, and had yet found no consolation, neither in the House of Nienna, nor the slumber of Estë.

   But the woman was looking thoughtfully at him. "I grieve for your passing, my lady, and for all the passing of life, mourning every flower."  
   "So, then I do pity you, Elf. For every day your grief must grow the greater."  
Fingolfin tilted his head back, then stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. "Yes, but it was not until we found your people that the terrible sharpness of the grief became clear to us. For however much we may care for hound and steed, it is only in the Children of Ilúvatar that we find others like ourselves, for whom we truly grieve."  
   "Yet it is little comfort to me. He will be delighted that you will sing his name, but I... well I am bitter that I shall not see his children. Do you blame me ?"  
   Fingolfin gaped, "Blame you, how could I blame you ? I share your incomprehension and your rage. For now that I love Hador, the loss of a single Mortal has become an intolerable grief to me, and he is yet living ! When he is gone I... I cannot see past his death, a... a darkness blacker than night lies before me..." he looked anxiously into the watching eyes.

   Golwen breathed hoarsely.  
   "You truly love him, my little Hador ?"  
   Fingolfin sighed "With fey passion. I begrudge every smile he gives to another."  
   Golwen smiled, then winced, frowning.  
   "My lady, you are in pain."  
   Golwen snorted "I am always in pain."  
   Fingolfin sat up straight "My lady, I am not among the great healers, but I have a little skill. Will you listen awhile, I shall sing a healing song, and do you take my hand."

   The bundle of dry bones sat in his fingers like straws. He would have flinched but for the warmth, and the birdlike pulse, and the trembling. He cleared his mind, and thought of the Trees, and Taniquetil, and the music of Lorien, and he began to sing. Her spirit flickered like the small flame of a dying lamp. He swallowed, blinking; grief and helpless rage weakened his own spirit. He remembered the blackness of the void at the Windows of Nienna, and the joy and relief at turning back to the light and the Light. He tried to put his joy into his song, and his spirit into the thin hand laid so lightly in his own.

   Golwen stirred, her spirit flickered and brightened and her body settled into a sigh.  
   "Ah, that is better ! Why, I feel almost as though I could eat a little..."  
Fingolfin smiled, and leaped to his feet, and threw the door open "A little food for the lady Golwen ! For we have much to discuss."  
The women looked at him, and at each other, with desperate hope, swiftly concealed, and hurried away, but one turned to him and bowed and said "Thank you sire" very softly.

 

   Golwen beckoned him closer "Help me to sit up, healer, help me with these pillows."  
   Fingolfin laughed "You are indeed his mother. But I am no healer, it is your curiosity which spurs your appetite. Confess it !"  
   Golwen grinned at him "Very well, wise one, of course I am curious. Your picture hangs in our Hall. I have known your face, and your legend, all my life.  
And now my son is in love with you, and you with him. I am astonished. Curious ! I am more than curious, I am agog ! Tell me what you first thought when you saw him. Tell me everything !"  
   And so, as food was brought and served, and wine poured for Fingolfin, and healing tonic for Golwen, he told her of their meeting, and then of their love, and of his growing grief at the parting to come. And Golwen listened avidly, hearing one whom she most admired speaking with love of her dear son, the light of her life. Neither of them noticed the tears that each shed from time to time, and the sun moved from bright noon to evening haze before either thought to consider the passage of time.

 

   But the illness rose once more within Golwen like the shadows of night, and she sank back into the pillows and closed her eyes. "Forgive me, sire, but I am glad that you will mourn us. I fear we are... I fear we are too marred, Fingolfin, too steeped in blood, too brutal, greedy, cruel and spiteful...

   If your Valar ever hear your voice again, plead for us, Fingolfin, beg forgiveness for our orcish ways."

   Fingolfin snorted "My lady, I am cursed. Along with every Noldor in Beleriand. You would have me plead your cause ?  
   Do you know the words of the Curse ? "not though all whom ye have slain should plead for thee". Do you hear those words ? All whom ye have slain... How the knife of remorse is twisted in the guts.  
   But yes." he bowed his head "If ever, beyond hope, I come where my words may be heard, I will plead for you."

   "No..." said Golwen softly "It is we who will plead for you." She opened her eyes, the eyes of Hador, and gazed at Fingolfin, who gripped his goblet and tried to push the darkness from the edges of his mind. "My son" she said, and struggled to sit upright. Fingolfin stood and eased her gently up, and straightened the pillows behind her. She looked up at him intently until he seated himself and picked up his goblet. "My son, and his children, and their children’s children... We will thrive, learning from you, learning from each other, and if your seer spoke truly, and the blood of the two kindreds will mingle, why then... Who can say what we might accomplish ?"  
   "With marred spirits, ruthless greed and cruel spite ?"  
   Golwen covered her face with her hands "Darkness, you say ?"

 

   But Fingolfin looked into his own heart with horror and realised that he had laid the burden of his grief on the one least able to bear it. One who would be parted from Hador far sooner than he, and the one who loved him more deeply than any other could imagine.

  
   "No lady, the darkness is mine alone." He spoke without thought, but felt his words echo in his spirit, as his pledge to his brother echoed yet. "Mine alone..." he said again, as though testing an injury with a careful hand. A weight seemed to fall from him, the weight of responsibility for others. The darkness ahead was something for him alone to deal with, not his people, not Hador’s people, but most especially not this frail fading woman. "Isca the seer spoke of hope, and light in the darkness. And yes lady, that our blood should mingle, will mingle."

   Their eyes met, the High King of the Noldor, tall and straight, dark hair smooth and shining, grey eyes clear and bright, vigorous and alert. And the dying Mortal, grey skinned, red eyed, hunched with the return of pain, haunted by the unknown darkness of death.

 

 

   "I think we shall return to the sleep of the stones." she said finally.  
   Fingolfin gazed at her as if he had never seen her before "No ! No, oh my lady Golwen ! How can you say that !"  
   "You people remember Valinor, and the Trees, you remember before the Sun and the Moon. Oh, you need not look surprised. I am his mother, I know all about you !" she laughed, then began to cough. Fingolfin helped her to drink a little, and settled her back on the pillows, as she struggled to breathe. "Elves !" she said softly, as though of welcome but inconvenient rain. "Well, but we Mortals remember nothing. Nothing. We awaken for a brief time, we look around, but I think that we do not like what we see, for we swiftly sleep again." She laughed dryly, and Fingolfin laughed but shook his head "I wish I had come here before, I wish I had had time to know you."  
   "There would have been no point, you were not welcome here, and even if you had come, I was not then the person that this sickbed has made me. I would not have been so welcoming."

   Fingolfin looked at the lines between her eyes, and thought of this stern mother, shaping the eager spirit of his beloved Hador. He thought of Hador’s rare words of his childhood. "He always felt guilty for loving the Elves more."  
   "Do you think that that can console me ? Fifteen when he ran away. Fifteen. And now, I hardly know him. Oh, he is charming, but he does not even move like a Mortal now, he floats about like you do !"  
   Fingolfin smiled "I assure you, I do not float. But yes, we have trained him in movement, the training works very deeply in the flesh."  
   Golwen looked away, almost wincing, and he blushed deeply. But then, still staring out of the window, she said expressionlessly "She is with child."

   Fingolfin half-rose from his seat, then sat carefully down again. "Are you certain ?"  
   She turned her keen eyes to him "Have you not noticed ? Even with your wonderful Elf senses ?" She frowned at him "No, you do not heed her at all, do you ? You only see him."  
   He bowed his head, it had been three months, three endless months without Hador. They had fallen on each other like birds of prey. They were still falling on each other, at every chance. There had been no moment when he had given the least thought to Gildis. Poor Gildis. But Hador... "Does he know ?"

 

   Golwen laughed scornfully "You care only that he has not shared a secret with you, not what that secret is ! You are as a child, sire, heedless of consequences. No, he does not know. I do not know what drove me to tell you, in truth. Spite, or envy, that you will see the child, and I shall not." He held out his hand but she flinched away and wiped an angry tear from her eyes. "I had hoped... Well, sire, you are a grandfather, I had hoped to entrust the bairns to you." she sighed "But I see it is not so. Let him go, sire, let him build his House in Dor-Lómin, the lord Fingon does not mind.

   I know it is far, but we are Mortals, sire, and people just get bitter if they see you looking endlessly young and living for ever while we..." she gestured with the faintest motion of her fingers, the gesture itself a statement. Fingolfin sighed and sat back in his chair, but Golwen lay still, save a last tremor, as the thin body, barely lifting the covers, sagged back into the pillows. Faint as a falling leaf, the voice of Golwen, wife of Hathol and mother of Hador Lórindol, came to Fingolfin.

   

   "Sing for me, Elf."

 

  
 


End file.
